


Very Good Bad Thing

by smallpotates



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Character Study, Combination of Movie and Music, During Canon, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), Retelling of Party, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallpotates/pseuds/smallpotates
Summary: What if J.D. crashed Veronica's party instead of Veronica crashing J.D.'s sleep? A combination of movie canon and musical canon.
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, Heather McNamara & Veronica Sawyer, Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 29
Kudos: 111





	1. Got Off Shift at Ames

“Ya’know, it’s like, so crazy how many things can change in two years, you know?”

Veronica looks down into the solo cup of jungle juice she has been nursing for the past half an hour. Heather Chandler had forced it into her hand after she had deemed Veronica’s lack of interest in her surroundings completely unacceptable.

“Lighten the fuck up, Veronica. I didn’t let you slobber my _Brick_ just so you could use it to pout.” Chandler spit, pushing the cup into her hands before flouncing off to go flirt with a Wide Receiver. The first big rager of the year and Veronica was already not living up to her expectations as a Heather. She had dared to arrive at Heather’s McMansion almost 15 minutes late for mandatory makeup hour, with flats instead of heels, and her hair wildly under-coiffed. Heather went into a shitfit, criticizing Veronica from head to unpolished toe. Veronica knew better than to try and defend herself, instead letting Heather pace around her room listing off what parts of Veronica’s outfit looked cheap.

“Lipstick on a pig...” Chandler muttered as Veronica applied an on-loan tube of Chanel. The other two Heathers snickered into their respective hand mirrors, grateful that tonight Heather Chandler’s wrath had been directed solely on Veronica and not them. Veronica rolled her eyes and turned herself further into a corner of Chandler’s room, adding another coat of mascara. _You only have to stay until midnight, 1:00 a.m. tops. Then they’ll be so drunk they won’t even notice…_

“Veronica, I really really mean it. It’s so, like, crazy.” Veronica’s gaze breaks from her cup at the sound of her name. Kurt Kelly looms over her, intruding onto the small patch of wall she had attempted to claim. The smell of Schnapps lingers between them. “You know two years ago if someone had told me that Veronica Sawyer was going to be at one of Heather Chandler’s parties, I’d be all, ‘Ha, who?’ But now that you’re here it’s, like, wow-even more hot chicks!”

“You could almost say it’s unbelievable that I’m here.”

“Yes, totally! Man it’s so great when chicks get what you’re trying to say, ya know?”

Veronica gives a small scoff of acknowledgement and mutters something about needing more jungle juice before making a beeline for the kitchen. Her cup is about halfway full but desperately needs to be emptied. She's already begun to feel buzzed; her top lip went numb about twenty minutes ago. If she wanted to make it out of this night unscathed she had to have all of her wits about her. Heather can smell fear but she can also smell contempt. The fact that Veronica donned a blasé attitude instead of publicly groveling at Heather’s feet to show gratitude for being invited to her own best friend’s party drove Heather absolutely insane. Veronica is a very blunt drunk and one more misstep could cause an all out meltdown.

Heather’s house is like a maze with different archways leading to a myriad of offices and half-baths. The hallways are littered with dozens of pictures of Heather’s journey into demonhood. Mall portraits in ballet outfits, family photos from expensive vacations, and a clear timeline of Heather’s smile morphing into her signature smirk. A collage of baby photos the only proof that Heather Chandler had once been without sin. Without evidence to the contrary, Veronica would be convinced that Heather Chandler had emerged straight from the depths of hell right onto Westerberg’s front lawn first day of freshman year.

Right as Veronica rounds the last corner a flash of red satin and blond ringlets manifests in her path. “Where do you think you’re going, Bluebird?” Heather chirps.

“I’m just going to get something different. This one’s not doing it for me.” _Not a lie, technically._

“Not doing it for you? Then why’s your face all flushed?” Heather’s voice drips with concern, bright red talons prodding Veronica’s cheek.

Veronica hates just how much of a lightweight she is. Two shots of whiskey always has her head swimming and face bright red. Everyone else had been building up their tolerance since eighth grade while Veronica’s first drink was halfway into junior year.

“I saw the way you were talking to Kurt.” Heather cuts, her faux pleasant tone stripped away.

“I think I was being the perfect conversation partner for him. He can really only handle about twenty different words at a time. Anymore and he needs to sit down.”

Heather’s perfectly arched brows furrow. “I’ve had enough of your fucking attitude today. First you refused to get a ride home with us from that Linebacker with the Mustang, then you showed up to my house looking like you just got off shift at Ames, and now this? Ever since that freak made Kurt and Ram shit themselves at lunch you’ve been leaving a snail trail wherever you go.”

 _J.D._ Veronica thinks. The banter Veronica had exchanged with him at lunch had been the most stimulating conversation she had had in months. Intelligence was somewhat of a commodity at Westerberg but J.D. wore it as a badge of pride. His fearlessness when confronted by the two biggest guys in school only fascinated her even more. Everyone else had accepted their shit as the norm but J.D. had single handedly scared them into remission-even for just an afternoon. Talking to J.D. left Veronica in a daze in the best sort of way. The fact that he was hot was just a bonus.

“Oh come in, it’s not that bad. They were just blanks.”

“When your eyes aren’t glazed over dreaming about your literal shotgun wedding you’ve been getting fucking snippy with me.” Heather’s eyes narrow. “You know, as a Heather, you can’t date down like that, right?”

“Of course, Heather.” Veronica smirks, a new wave of confidence washing over her. “That’s why after you jumped Peter Dawson’s bones you paid him fifty in hush money. Anything to stay on brand.”

Heather’s face flushes a bright red identical to the scrunchie tying back her perm. Suddenly their noses are touching-Heather staring daggers. “You better watch your fucking mouth. If you were as useless as McNamara I’d end you right now. You’re lucky you have something to offer, even if just barely.” Veronica’s mind flashes to the cursive Mrs. Chandler had perfected over the years. “You’re on thin ice, Sawyer. Don’t blow it.” Heather turns towards the archway, her anger punctuated by the click of heels against wood flooring. A signal of her return to her adoring fans.

Veronica sighs in relief and enters the kitchen; the scent of weed and cheap grain alcohol permeates the air. The party’s barely an hour in and the countertops are already littered with discarded solo cups and empty beer cans. There’s a smattering of people in the kitchen and most of them have already had their fair share of fun for the night. A girl from Veronica’s math class is raiding the fridge looking for something good to eat. A boy she’s never seen before has positioned himself against the pantry and is somehow sleeping standing up. Two girls are stumbling and holding onto each other for support. Veronica thinks one is giving words of encouragement to get the other to talk to Ram Sweeney, but whatever speech she’s prepared is just coming out as one big drunk portmanteau of advice.

_Jesus Christ, it's not even eleven._

Despite the intimacy of the kitchen Veronica goes unseen. The kids at school only really notice her when she is Chandler adjacent. She’s thankful for this when she is finally able to empty her cup without a dumb comment from the peanut gallery asking why she can’t loosen up. Veronica’s resentment had become too much to ignore even by chemical means. Drowning her sorrows in Fireball would only make her angrier. She fills her cup with some water, chugging it so quickly some runs down the sides of her mouth and onto her blouse.

Veronica clears a considerable amount of cups and cans from the countertop and hoists herself onto the tile. It’s cold and slightly sticky, but it's a relief compared to all the body heat in the house. The two emotional support girls disappear back into the abyss of partygoers, leaving just the girl from second period happily munching on cold hot dogs dipped in Grey Poupon and unknown boy slowly sliding down onto the floor; his movements harmonized with incredibly loud snores. Veronica can hear Top 40 hits blasting from the living room, bodies attempting to sway in time but failing miserably.

_I'm tired of dancing here all by myself_   
_Tonight, I want to dance with someone else_

“Of course.” Veronica mutters. Every time she had been drug to the mall during the past eight months the Heathers played this song. They love repetition. The same clothes, the same parties, the same toxic boys. Any deviation from the norm was severely punished with an oral report about why Veronica was such a geek for actually finishing the books from English class.

 _At least I don’t get all my op-eds from fucking_ Tiger Beat _._ Veronica smirks to herself, making a mental note to tell that one to Duke during one of their shit talking sessions; the only time either of them really interacted without Chandler present. Heather Duke probably wouldn’t fully understand it, but she could always appreciate a dig against Heather Chandler.

Veronica leans farther back onto the counter, the back of her head resting on the cabinets. _Martha would’ve thought that was funny too._ She’d pretend like it was too mean but she’d still cover her mouth with her hand while giggling. Martha tried to see the good in everyone but even she could appreciate an alright burn towards someone who deserved it.

 _Maybe if she was here I’d actually be having some fun right now._ Martha would’ve sat in the kitchen with her and they’d talk about their classes and whether Martha should go and talk to Ram. _Hell no._ Veronica thinks. Martha would take a few small sips from Veronica’s beer because she’d be too nervous to take on the responsibility of a full can. Veronica wouldn’t mind though. That’s what friends are for.

It's September and Veronica had barely spoken to Martha. Awkward smiles and half-hearted waves is what their friendship eroded to. Every time she thought about Martha her heart grew heavier. Martha never insults Veronica’s clothes or makeup or hair, and she always praises her intelligence instead of ridiculing it. Normally she can distract herself from all these feelings, just focus on her new friends and new life, but not tonight. All Veronica can think about was being anywhere else but here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique very much welcome. This is my first ever fic and I want to improve! Feel free to roast in the comments.


	2. I Like My Slushies Virgin

Veronica snaps back to reality when she hears a tap on the window behind her. She has no idea how long she’s been zoned out. The sleeves of her cardigan are wrinkled from balling up her fists and her cuticles have been picked to death. The only sign of hot dog girl are smears of mustard left on the kitchen island. She thinks she hears the gentle snore of pantry boy but wherever he is she can’t see him. Veronica turns to face the window, a pair of dark eyes staring directly at her. A fair face framed by perfectly messy hair is illuminated by the light inside. His arms are folded against the windowsill and his breath is fogging up the glass. A thick black trench coat hugs his shoulders, and she thinks she can make out _Combat Rock_ written on his t-shirt. Veronica can feel her heart pounding in her throat as she opens the window.

“Greetings and salutations.” J.D. croons. He smells like Marlboros and artificial cherry; a combo Veronica thinks should make her sick but instead makes her ears burn.

“I know it’s not the most graceful entrance but I think I still deserve a _hello_. ” Veronica realizes she hasn’t said anything. She’s just sitting there.

“Don’t you think you’re playing with fire by being here?” The cogs in Veronica’s mind take a second to turn. “If the mouth breathers see you they’ll mash you to a pulp.” _So eloquent, Veronica._

J.D. chuckles much to her surprise. “I think I’ll be alright. Wasn’t really planning on networking tonight.” He wrings his hands absentmindedly. “I prefer to take a step back and just observe at parties. People watching is a lot more interesting when everyone’s wrecked.”

“You go to a lot of parties?” Veronica asks.

“I find a lot of parties.” J.D. responds. “Just whatever house catches my eye.”

“So you didn’t hear about this through the grapevine?” 

J.D.’s face scrunches. “Formal invitations usually ruin the fun. I was just passing by and wanted to see what the fuss was all about.” He pulls out a fresh pack of smokes, tapping the carton on his wrist. “Want one?” He says twirling a cigarette between his fingers.

Veronica has never smoked before but still finds herself reaching for it. She takes a second to observe before gingerly popping it into her mouth. It's a foreign feeling between her lips and she can’t help but feel slightly self conscious.

J.D. looks at her expectantly for a moment. “You need a light there?” He says opening and closing his Zippo. 

“Oh! I mean, yeah.” Veronica motions to grab the lighter from his hand when she realizes he’s brought his arm up and is lighting it for her. She feels a faint blush crawl onto her cheeks. J.D. taps the carton once more for a cigarette for himself and pops it into his mouth like he’d done it a million times before. He motions for Veronica to lean down, and right as she does the tips of their cigarettes touch, J.D. inhaling deeply.

“Sorry, my lighter's a little bit low on fuel.”

“No it’s fine, you’re the one being so generous…” Veronica says sheepishly to the floor. She’s positive her face is as red as Chandler’s Louboutins. Veronica takes a long drag of her cigarette, realizing her mistake right as she goes into a massive coughing fit. Her stomach sinks a little when she hears J.D. chuckling behind her.

“You don’t have to breathe that deeply, just take a few puffs.” He demonstrates by quickly pulling his cigarette in and out of his mouth a few times. Veronica clears her throat before following J.D.’s lead. The small hit still burns but is much more tolerable.

“So what exactly about this house piqued your interest?” Veronica asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from her covert geekiness.

“Whenever I get stuck at a new school I try and do some research into what the masses are like. See kids in their natural state-drunk and horny. Most of my findings have been the exact same though.”

“What have you found at those other places?”

“Most kids just want to get drunk and be horny.”

“Well I can tell you right now that Westerberg is just like all those other schools.” Veronica says. Her fingers absentmindedly play with the hem of her skirt.

J.D. snaps up straight and jokingly slaps the windowsill. “Whelp looks like my work here is done. Thanks for all your help Ms. Sawyer but it’s best if I be on my way.” He makes an exaggerated turn towards the backyard behind him, the hem of his coat dramatically following behind.

“Oh come on! You can’t just leave me here all by myself.” Veronica twists her body on the countertop to fully face the window and is giggling between her words. “It’s awful here, it really is.” She pleads. 

J.D. turns back around, reclaiming his spot one the windowsill. “Well if you insist.”

“Here let me jus-” Veronica can barely lift herself off the counter to go open the backdoor before J.D. is almost halfway through the window. He expertly shimmies his way into the kitchen, managing to knock over only a few cans as he lands on his feet. Otherwise a perfect landing.

“Dreadful etiquette, I know.” He shrugs his shoulders. J.D. takes a long drag of the remnants of his cigarette and then flicks it out the window. Veronica does the same, only hers is much longer when she tosses it. “What do you mean it’s awful here? Isn’t this like your job and shit?” He asks.

Veronica lets out a comically deep sign. “It’s my job and shit but I fucking hate it.” She covers her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan; gently as to not smear her mascara. “If someone had told me eight months ago I’d be here I would’ve been ecstatic.”

“And now?"

Veronica pulls her arm down, placing her elbows onto her knees and resting her chin in her palms. “Well now it’s eight months later and I really don’t like my friends.”

“Well I really don't like your friends either.” J.D. says. Even though he’s insulting her best friends in the whole world, Veronica finds his words reassuring.

“You’ve only been here a day and you can already tell?”

“Call it instinct, or even just intuition but I know an asshole when I see one.”

Veronica straightens her posture and lowers herself back onto the ground, borrowed kitten heels clacking against the linoleum. She hadn’t realized just how much taller he was than her-almost a full head. She feels so much smaller compared to him; the way she has to crank her neck in order to make eye contact only solidifies the fact. He’s looking down at her, an eyebrow quirked up in anticipation. She can’t fully read him; she senses interest, definitely, but there’s something else there. Something she’s never really seen before.

She really wants to find out what that is.

“Now that I’m here I might as well take part in the festivities, eh?” He says. “They got anything good here?”

“Oh god no. Heather insisted all the liquor be ‘red themed’ so the jungle juice is just a mix of Wild Turkey, peppermint Schnapps, and Moscato.” They both laugh, J.D. rubbing the back of his neck.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting much from some whitebread town in Ohio but I never thought it would be this bad. I really gotta do everything around here.” He says, pulling a small silver flask out of a coat pocket. He takes a big swig before offering some to Veronica. By herself she needed to be sober to navigate the Heathers without incident. With a partner she could let her guard down a bit.

Veronica takes a much more conservative swig from the flask. It’s so potent it absolutely overwhelms all of her senses momentarily. The back of her throat feels like it’s on fire and she can’t help but grimace as she swallows.

“Holy shit what is that?” She asks, returning the liquor.

“Just some stuff from old Daddy Dean’s reserve. It’s some junky Bourbon a business partner gifted to him. He doesn’t remember half of the shit he drinks so no harm no foul.” He explains. “Pairs well with Snappy Snack Shack slushies in both coke and cherry. It’s awful in blue raspberry though.”

“Is that what Jason Dean usually does with his Friday nights? Get hammered behind the Snappy Snack Shack dumpster with a Slush Pup and beef jerky?” Veronica says as she nudges his shoulder.

“No that’s Saturday nights. Fridays are reserved for crying in my room reading Bukowski.” He jokes. “I usually like my slushies virgin. The iciness by itself is just enough to numb everything. Unknown Bourbon No. 5 is only for special occasions.” He says, lightly swirling the flask. 

“What’s the occasion?” She says, raising her brow in expectation. J.D. just purses his lips tauntingly and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. It takes him a second to respond.

“To… new friends. Yeah, sure.” He says with finality. Veronica feels slightly frustrated at his abstract response but it still makes her heart skip a beat.

_Don’t get your hopes up just yet._

“New friends, of course. Maybe you’ll be the one friend I can tolerate.” Veronica smirks. She notices his own smirk soften into a slight smile. The more she’s with J.D. the more natural everything feels. Even when he makes her heart race she still feels an overarching sense of calm. There’s electricity in the air whenever they talk and it’s addicting. They’ve barely known each other for a day and she feels a deeper connection with him than anyone else she’s ever met in Sherwood. 

A voice in her head whispers _Martha_ and she pushes the thought down.

“So why don’t you give me the rundown on what happens at a Westerberg gathering?” J.D. asks.

“I thought you said every high school party is the same?” Veronica contests.

“There’s still a local flavor to each one. I do want to learn the ins-and-outs of the Midwest.” He clarifies.

“Well…” Veronica turns around and balances herself against the island, slightly closer to J.D. “Kurt and Ram are the first ones to get drunk, and run around making people do shots with them. Heather McNamara and Heather Duke-the yellow one and the green one-they both get all giggly and flirt whoever on the football team got to play that week. I’m usually the one who’s holding their hair back by 11:30. Heather Chandler becomes way more anal when she’s drunk but is otherwise the same. Anyone else lower on the totem spends the whole party making sure their superiors are having a good time. I basically act as a diplomat between the populars and the scum, telling people what to do. Chandler’s never gone on a beer run. More often than not everyone only gets one beer before Kurt and Ram chug it all. Then after people always want to go to Skyline and get chili at, like, three a.m. but it’s so _gross_!” Veronica suddenly realizes her voice is up an octave and she’s talking a mile a minute.

J.D. rubs his temples while laughing. “Jesus H. Christ how do you live like this?” He places his elbow onto her left shoulder, like a human armrest. Veronica feels like she should be offended but the physical contact is just too intoxicating. “Poor little Veronica Sawyer, doomed to be the only sign of intelligent life in Sherwood, Ohio.”

Veronica shoots him a smirk, but it’s a tender one. She’s still nervous but her anxiety is slowly melting away with each witticism he spouts; even faster every time he compliments her. A calculated bat of her eyelashes makes his eyes soften. “If only there was anything I could do to make Sherwood better.” She coos.

“Well, there is something we could do right now.” J.D. takes a step forward and turns his body towards hers. There’s only a few inches between them now and Veronica can feel her thoughts begin to fog up. J.D. slouches down so his gaze directly meets hers, his eyes alight with anticipation. He places his hands on her shoulders and Veronica feels shockwaves move through her body. The faint heat of his breath warms her face and she’s sure her cheeks are now permanently burned red.

“Wanna cause some chaos?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls let me know what u think i love validation


	3. Iron Maiden is Entry Level

It takes a second for Veronica to fully process his words. She’s slightly disappointed it’s a question rather than an action, but she’s still curious as to what he means. There’s something in his eyes that shows an excitement she’s never seen before. The same look she had seen earlier-only amplified.

“What?” Is all she manages to sputter out.

“Cause some chaos!” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Liven things up a bit. Really make the night… unforgettable.” 

“They’re not going to remember tonight in the first place.”

“Then there’s nothing to lose, is there?” His grip tightens on her shoulders. It’s firm but still gentle and Veronica feels something stir inside her. J.D.’s stare falls down at the ground, chuckling a bit before looking back up at her through hooded eyes. “Veronica, I really think we could do something special here tonight. We can make Sherwood better.” He leans in ever closer. “For _us_.”

In that moment Veronica wants to close the distance between them so badly. She wants to move her mouth against his and run her hands through his hair and feel his arms wrap around her waist but she holds herself back. She’s never felt an attraction to anyone at Westerberg like this. She’s had crushes in the past but those boys were always a lot more fun in her head than in reality. The fact that she barely knows this kid is nagging at her constantly but she can’t help herself. Veronica can feel herself falling fast; it scares her but at the same time all she wants is to ride the high.

“What do you have in mind?” She asks, folding her arms.

“Well, I have a few plans I’ve been saving for a rainy day.” He says, placing his hands back into his coat pockets; Veronica misses the warmth almost immediately. “I’m always open to suggestions, however.”

“Hey now this was your idea!” Veronica giggles.

“You’re right, but I like to… personalize my pranks. You’re my liaison into the world of Westerberg’s bourgeoise-you know what makes them tick.” He says.

“Hmm…” Veronica places her pointer finger against her lips. She had been so focused on J.D. the volume of the pop music coming back into focus is startling. 

_Some boys take a beautiful girl,_

_And hide her away from the rest of the world!_

Veronica figures Heather Chandler must be deep into the bottle because she normally hates this song. Heather ruled with an iron fist over what music could be in the same vicinity as the lipstick gestapo-something about ‘public relations’. Another bullet point on a long list of what Heather feels the need to control. Chandler always insisted that the fact that Heather Duke’s favorite singer is Cyndi Lauper was just a coincidence. 

“You know what Chandler hates with a passion? Any form of metal, especially Iron Maiden. It reminds her of her seventh grade boyfriend.”

“Can’t really say I blame her.” J.D. sighs. “Iron Maiden is a pretty entry level.”

Veronica exhales through her nose. “You know what I mean. The soundtrack to Heather Chandler’s life does not include anything in a minor key.”

J.D. squints. “That’s weird. _O Fortuna_ is in D minor.”

Veronica laughs and nudges his shoulder again. It feels repetitive the way she’s flirting but she wants to take any chance she gets to touch him, even for just a second. He rubs his shoulder, hamming up his pain. “God, Veronica if you’re gonna hit me at least spit in my mouth first.” Veronica makes an exaggerated groan in disgust, which only makes J.D. laugh harder.

“You hear that?” Veronica nods her head towards the source of the music. J.D.’s face contorts into a grimace when it hits him. “Heather hates this song. I’m surprised she’s let it go on thi-” Her words are interrupted by a loud _SLAM_ and suddenly _Girl You Know It’s True_ fills the air instead. Veronica can see in her mind’s eye the exact way Chandler’s eyes bore into Duke’s skull just a few rooms over.

“All I’m saying is that if we change the music, Heather will throw a shitfit. In front of everyone.” Veronica gestures to an imaginary audience with her hand.

J.D. looks off to the left mulling over her words. “It’s a little simple, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t take a lot to set Heather off. Just trust me, even something as small as this will cause a conniption. I’ve seen how bad Chandler’s temper tantrums are when she’s sober. Heather losing her shit while drunk and disorderly would be one of the best performances of the year.” Veronica feels a tension rising in her throat. 

J.D. looks at her, pursing his lips. “Alight, I’ll bite.” Veronica releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Now what kind of setup are we looking at here? Eight track, vinyl, _gramophone_?” 

“ _Cassette_.” She clarifies. “Heather’s Dad buys her a new Hi-Fi system every year she ends with a D plus average.” 

“Just the encouragement the greatest minds of our generation need. C’mon, I think I might have just what we're looking for.” J.D. says. With a turn on his heel he starts to make his way towards the backdoor. 

Veronica follows, the rush of cool air from outside an even bigger relief from the musk of the house. The backyard is such a contrast to the party just feet behind her. The night feels calm and still; scored by a melody of crickets. The sky is a deep navy blue hue and she sees Perseus peeking out from behind a small cloud. Veronica closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath as the chilled air cleanses her thoughts. For the first time in a while Veronica feels a sense of clarity. Part of her wants to ask J.D. to just lay down in the grass with her and look at the stars.

_Maybe later._ She thinks, her focus shifted to the way her heels sink into the grass with each step. Her stumbling is reminiscent of a newborn deer. _Fawns are cute, right?_ She rationalizes to herself after a particularly wobbly move. Veronica freezes when she realizes J.D. is watching her, his right foot perched on a large knot in the wood of the fence. She can tell he’s holding back laughter.

“Hey I’d like to see you try and walk in these things!” She’s only an extra two inches off the ground but it’s still a pain in the ass.

“I’m sure you would!” He retorts, turning out his ankle to accent his leg even more. Veronica laughs and slips off one of her heels and tosses it at him, making a loud _thump_ as it hits the fence. J.D. quickly swoops down and picks up the shoe, hooking a finger through the straps. “A gift? For me?” He says. “I appreciate the thought but it looks a bit too small.” He tauntingly twirls the shoe around his finger a few times. Veronica is snorting with laughter and can hardly take off her other shoe before he’s hoisted himself over the fence and into the alley behind Chandler’s house. 

“You coming or what?” His voice is muffled slightly by the distance.

She follows suit, though her motions are much more labored and awkward. Veronica’s landing is graceless and the gravel beneath her stockings is painful. J.D. is leaning against his motorcycle, shoe in hand. “Looks like you forgot something at the ball, Cinderella.” He quips. Veronica runs up to him making a move for the heel. He quickly pulls it up above his head, just out of her reach. “Hey now, you threw this away and suddenly you want it back? Who are you, Chandler every time she hooks up with Pete Dawson?” 

“How’d you find out about that?” Veronica asks between jumps. With each hop she makes sure to puff out her chest a bit. Out of the corner of her eye she notices his eyes flit down for a second.

“I overheard Dawson talking about it before English today. He went into pretty gruesome detail too. Poor guy still hasn’t healed from the divorce.” His arm is still extended and Veronica’s fingertips barely brush the bottom of the shoe each time she jumps.

“Please…” She pouts. “I need it back, it’s Heather’s.”

“Oh well in that case-” He responds as he winds his arm back, about to catapult the kitten heel into the next town over. Veronica makes a series of pleads between giggles until he relents. “Okay fine, you got me.” He returns the shoe to her, and Veronica swears that he touches her hand for a moment longer than he needs to.

_Maybe the Heathers are right about something; smile the right way and guys will do whatever you want._ Veronica mentally concedes, even if the acknowledgement makes her stomach churn.

“Heather’s taken my flats hostage for the night so I kind of need these. Not like she would miss them. She wouldn’t be ‘caught dead in these at her Middle School graduation’-end quote.” Veronica says as she slips the shoes back on. 

“I guess I can respect her property until you’re back on your own two feet. I can’t guarantee whatever happens after that, however.” He says as he opens up the weathered leather tail bag on the back of his bike. Veronica looks over his shoulder and notices an array of items: loose cigarettes, random cassettes, a few cheap lighters, crumpled up dollar bills, walkman and matching headphones, a well-loved copy of _The Flowers of Evil_. She swears she sees a few 9mm rounds floating at the bottom of the bag. She swallows hard.

“Well I have a few options that might work.” He states while pulling out a stack of mixtapes. Veronica notices a scraggly cursive that titles each tape. _Family Man, This Is The Voice, Rat Music for Rat People Vol. 4._ She lists off in her head, attempting to file these names away for later. “Ah, here we go. Something from the archives.” J.D. pulls out a particularly worn cassette, the writing on it similar but substantially worse. It takes her a second but Veronica makes out _Piece of Mind_ scribbled across the top. “Thirteen year old me loved sitting by the radio recording everything of their stuff I could. Of course I was thirteen so I had no taste and just ended up with a bunch of shitty recordings of shitty music.” He says with a sigh. Veronica can feel her heart swell a bit as he opens up to her.

“I used to save up my allowance for weeks whenever a new David Bowie album would come out.” It’s nothing deeply personal but she still wants to reciprocate. “I had to get a months’ advance when _Tonight_ came out. I also saw _The Labyrinth_ in theaters multiple times. I tried my hand at recreating the dress Sarah wears at the end of the movie for Halloween one year but it never really panned out. It was a little too ambitious for me. I just ended up with pricked fingers and three yards of organza in the back of my closet.” 

J.D. looks up at her from his stack of cassettes. His gaze is much more tender than it had been all night. A subtle but genuine smile graces his mouth.

“That’s cute.”

Veronica whirls her face away from his as soon as the words come out. She can feel the blush extending all the way down to her collarbones this time. Just when she had begun to feel more comfortable around him one little sentence fragment sends her into a fit. Her susceptibility to anything even mildly charming just made the embarrassment exponentially worse. She takes a few deep breaths and graciously feels some of the color leave her face. 

“Can I see it?” She asks. “The tape.” She clarifies. She’s facing him again but her hair is still obscuring part of her face. He passes her the cassette and gives her a knowing look. The cover flies open easily because it’s so worn. It’s cracked and starting to yellow. The little slip card on the inside cover looks like it had been submerged in coffee and the chicken scratch is barely legible. There’s a list of songs Veronica assumes are related to the title at the top but it’s not like she would know.

“It’s not everything off that album but there’s enough to scratch the itch. Those five tracks got me through a lot.” J.D. muses. Veronica notices his expression has gone blank and he’s got a thousand-yard stare that seems to pierce through the neighbor’s fence.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He says after a slightly too long pause. He rubs his eyes for a moment before letting out a rushed sigh. “Shall we?” He makes his way back towards Chandler’s backyard but stills when Veronica places a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.” She says, circling around him so they’re face to face. “If you want to talk about anything we can. I don’t mind.” It’s forward but she still feels the compulsion to say something. For a split second something raw fills his eyes, but he immediately steels them. 

“I appreciate the offer but I’ve never really been one for dwelling on the past. I’d like to just focus on the present” He says with a flimsy wink. He takes the grimy cassette from Veronica’s hand. “Iron Maiden, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Iron Maiden.” She echos. She watches as he approaches the fence, hands in his pocket and shoulders slightly slumped. He jumps it even more quickly than he had the first time. She can hear foliage _crunch_ underneath his feet when he lands; probably the rose bushes Mrs. Chandler worked so hard to maintain. Several footsteps sound after until he stops again.

“You okay?” He asks.

Veronica feels like she fucked up but isn’t really sure why.


	4. It Was Just Third Base

It takes her a few tries but Veronica is able to hoist herself up and straddle the fence. The difference in height between the flowerbed and alleyway is palpable. It’s no problem for six-foot-something J.D. but Veronica plus two inches still struggles. She realizes she probably should have taken off the heels again before doing any climbing, but it’s too late. She looks down at the ground trying to calculate all of her possible landings where she doesn’t fall face first into roses or break an ankle. J.D.’s thick combat boots can handle thorns but her thin stockings and baby heels can’t.

“Need some help?” He asks, extending his arm. He sounds like everything’s fine but Veronica wants to make sure to not open any wounds again. Especially since she’s not exactly sure what opened them the first time.

“No I think I’m go-” Is all she gets out before she loses her footing and jolts down a few inches. She barely has her right leg straddled over the top of the fence while the toes on her left foot are clinging on for dear life. Veronica is trembling when she suddenly feels his hands on her waist, and she’s able to stable herself enough to make a safe landing. She turns around to face him but his hands don’t move from their spot.

She realizes she must be making a face because he tries to comfort her. “Don’t worry about me Sawyer, I’m used to dealing with stuff by myself.” He punctuates his words with a slight squeeze of her hips. It’s a reassuring statement but Veronica still wants to dig. The way he squeezes her hips, however, dissolves all her questions before she can ask them.

J.D. makes his way to the backdoor and Veronica follows, making sure to walk on her tiptoes. The heat emanating from the kitchen seems so much more potent after being in the fresh night air. Walking through the door feels like walking through a portal back into her reality. The weight of the expectations anointed onto her by the Diet Cokeheads instantly falls back onto her shoulders. Veronica really misses the outside.

“I didn’t realize how bad it stunk.” Veronica says between coughs. There’s a weird moisture to the air and she really doesn’t want to know where it’s coming from.

“Weed, cheap beer, and sweat.” He counts on his fingers. “Reminds me of home.” J.D. chuckles to himself but Veronica just feels a twinge of sadness.

“So how’re we gonna do this?” Veronica asks, trying to change the subject. She feels bad skirting around his remarks but it’s too risky trying to analyze anything. At least out loud.

“Well I was just planning on shoving it in there, smacking a button, and running like a bat out of hell.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out the cassette, giving his palm a small _smack_ with it.

“I really hope you don’t treat your girlfriend like that.”

“Well if I had one I would definitely consider not doing that.” He says. “Don’t worry Veronica, my only sweetheart is my left hand.” He raises his hand with his words in order to illustrate the point.

Veronica can’t help but smile when she rolls her eyes. “Well I hope you two are very happy together.”

“You really think just any girl could hold my interest for more than a week?”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.” J.D. shoots her a brazen look, his brows raised.

Veronica realizes that she’s biting her lip and that her pointer finger is wrapped in a lock of her hair. _Oh God they’ve really gotten to me._

Veronica figures that if she’s already in this deep, she might as well use some more of what the Heathers taught her. She walks towards him, each step carefully curated; her movement is slow but graceful. She places herself squarely in front of J.D.; he still looms over her but this time she’s not intimidated. This time she has control. She gently pokes his sternum, walking her fingers up a few strides. Her gaze follows to meet his and he looks like he’s in anticipation of something. Veronica locks her eyes with his and moves her hand down his arm, her fingertips trailing along his sleeve. His lids are just barely heavy and she notices his lips are slightly parted. She finally reaches his hand and with a light flick of her finger rattles the cassette.

“Y’know I’ve done a little work with the drama department at Westerberg.” Veronica veers. J.D.’s face goes from wanting to groggy reality at Veronica’s non sequitur. She finds that she really likes that she can do this to him, even just for a second. 

“Oh yeah?” He says. She can hear a hint of distraction in his voice. “How many times were you Gertie in Oklahoma?”

“I never got in that deep. Just wrote a few monologues for an experimental phase Ms. Fleming went through last year. She wanted to do some more ‘original’ stuff but was back to Harvey by the end of the month.” She explains.

“An interesting Veronica Sawyer factoid but I’m not exactly sure what this has to do with Steve Harris.” He says, pointing to the cassette.

“I deliver a rousing sermon about school spirit or some shit to the commonalty and while all eyes are on me, you go and switch tapes.” Veronica’s leaning back against the island with her ankles crossed, mimicking J.D. 

“I’d really love to see you address your adoring fans. Let’s do this.” She beams with pride at his enthusiasm. Veronica finally feels like she has an equal. He’s funny, smart, incredibly cute and hates everything she hates. Conversations with J.D. last more than three minutes and aren’t exclusively about lip gloss.

_It’s almost like he’s too good to be true._

Veronica straightens her posture and walks towards the exit to the kitchen, J.D. trailing behind. She turns to him to say something but stumbles over a large mass on the ground. Veronica realizes that it’s the guy who had fallen asleep standing against the pantry earlier.

“Aw how sweet, tuckered himself out.” J.D. says.

“You think he’s okay?” She asks.

J.D. kicks the kid in the leg, producing a half-groan-half-snore. He then uses his boot to get a lift underneath pantry boy’s back, rolling him onto his side.

“Better than ever, I’d say.” He says. “C’mon, I’m dying for a Veronica Sawyer soliloquy.”

“I’d say more of a sermon. If I told them what I really thought I’d be shot on site.” She says as she makes her way back through the maze that is Chandler’s first floor. Veronica once again passes all the pictures of young Heather, but this time her glassy scowl is less piercing with J.D. behind her. Veronica knows they’re making progress when the music grows louder after a sharp right turn. The entrance into the living room comes into her line of sight, and she angles the two of them so that they get a good view of the room without being seen.

Heather Chandler’s home is a modern marvel of suburban affluence. Heather’s parents had gone all out to make sure their living room was the most expensive while still being the most bland. Several segmented couches filled with random teenagers, either passed or making out, surround a gigantic television set that’s been forgotten by its audience. Kurt and Ram probably put on whatever game they wanted to watch but left once the diet pill infomercial came on and forgot to put the TV out of its misery. The walls are lined with expensively framed paintings; all of which are either landscapes or boats. The _Pottery Barn_ mail-ordered rug that Mrs. Chandler always gushed about when Veronica came over now has several beers spilled onto it as well as a few cigarette burns. She can’t help but smirk when she sees it in such a miserable state. The plants that had once livened up the room look sick with all the half-drank beer that has been poured onto them. The Hi-Fi system at the back of the room has been obscured by empty shot glasses and what looks to be a bra.

“The system’s right there, near the fern. Heather’s dad got her another new set of speakers when she copied my book report but still got a C minus. I’ll go over here-” Veronica says as she points to the small area between the TV and couches, “and you can slip in through the back.” 

In that moment J.D. moves himself much closer to her. His face is now right above her shoulder and she can feel his breath on her ear. He places his hand on the small of her back and a wave of electricity rocks her spine.

“Say that again, I’m a bit hard of hearing right now.” She feels his lips ghost the crook of her neck and goosebumps blossom all over her body. Veronica prays that the music drowned out the tiny moan she let slip.

All Veronica can manage is a weak outline. “I’ll go there.” She says, then mumbles something about the stereo. J.D. nods in affirmation, a small push guiding her to the entryway. 

Veronica steps through the entrance, trying to regain her composure. The reality of just how many people are in attendance hits her. Teenagers cover every inch of Chandler’s living room and almost all of them seem absolutely gone. Kids are laughing and talking but Veronica can’t understand a word of what they’re saying the music is so loud. Guys in corners howling way too hard at each other’s jokes; girls in pods swaying side to side. It’s the time of the night where flirting has gone by the wayside and the couples have moved on to shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. Veronica has a passing thought of something else she’d much rather be doing right now but shakes it off. A bright yellow ruffle skirt in the corner catches her eye and an idea pops into her head.

Heather McNamara has taken the spot Veronica had tried to claim earlier and is using it as a foundation while licking Ram Sweeney’s tonsils. The girls Veronica had seen back in the kitchen are glaring at Heather and one has mascara running down her face.

Veronica approaches Heather and Ram, trying not to focus on the spittle glazed onto Ram’s chin. “Hey, Heather-” Veronica says as she taps McNamara on the shoulder.

“Veronicaaaaa…” Heather says and she sloppily pulls away from Ram’s mouth. The jungle juice Veronica had drank earlier threatens to come up when she sees the strands of spit still connecting their mouths. “I haven’t seen you all night!” Heather slurs out. “Where've you been? We’ve missed you!” Veronica always felt like McNamara’s genuineness was her only saving grace. Being a doormat to girls peaking in high school would only get you so far. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Veronica says. Heather’s lips press into a perky smile and her big eyes squeeze shut. Ram is staring at Veronica slack jawed, waiting for her to wrap it up. “Sorry to interrupt you guys-” Ram produces a grunt in response. “-but I was hoping you could help me with something, Heather.” Veronica tenderly places her hand onto McNamara’s shoulder. Heather looks back up at Veronica, her eyes beaming.

“Of course!” She says. Ram’s face contorts into what Veronica thinks is annoyance but he’s too drunk to properly emote.”What do you need?” 

“Well I figured since it’s the first big game tomorrow we could, uh, do a big chant and get everyone excited or something.” Veronica has never been a good liar and she’s acutely aware of this when McNamara of all people gives her a confused look. 

“I mean... it sounds cool n’all but I didn’t think that was your bag.” She says. 

“Well I know I was kinda miffed today but I realized that if I want things to get better then I need to start with my attitude.” Veronica says while trying not to grind her teeth. 

Heather’s face grows more confused. 

“Kinda mad.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah you’ve been super bitchy lately and stuff.” Heather’s words cut but it’s not like Veronica can argue against them. 

“I just think it’s been a shit week and tapping into my school spirit could be just what I need.” Veronica says, accentuating her words with half-hearted jazz hands. Heather still has a dazed look in her eyes and Veronica realizes just how thick she needs to lay it on. “A-And you’re the most spirited person I know! You, Heather, and Heather have done so much for me and I think that maybe it’s time I start showing my appreciation. Through chants.”

McNamara giggles and waves her hand towards Veronica. “Awww, you’re just saying that!” Veronica’s eyes flicker towards Ram and he’s glaring at her.

“I’m sure there’s, like, other cheerleaders that’d do that thing you want or whatever.” Ram spits. “We’re a little _bu-say_.”

“Well, yeah _but_ I think Heather would be the best cheerleader for the job.” She counters. Veronica knows her own reputation; if she asked any of those other girls they would see right through her shit.

“It’s just one dumb thing at a party, can’t you just do it later?” He sighs.

Veronica can feel panic rising at the realization that fucking Ram Sweeney and Heather McNamara are the ones calling her bluff right now. “I mean Heather’s my friend and I’ve barely seen her all night and I’d real-”

“I’hl just be gone like, a little bit, Ram.” Heather interrupts sheepishly. Ram looks at her, the frustration in his face apparent. She looks back up at him, big lashes fluttering and her pink lips bowed into a pout.

“Fine. I needed another beer anyways.” He grumbles. Heather smiles in response, linking arms with Veronica’s as she leads her away. Heather’s curls bounce with each step.

“I was getting kinda bored anyways.” Heather slurs with a sigh. “Ram does this thing with his tongue where he just pokes it in and out of my mouth super fast. The first twenty minutes it’s okay, but after that it gets annoying.”

“I’m happy to help. So... are you guys...” Veronica hesitates.

Heather stops in her tracks, Veronica snagging on her arm. ”Hmm, I duhnno. I’d have to ask. He was pretty mad the last time I broke up with him.”

“A lot’s changed since Tuesday.” Veronica deadpans.

“I know right! I _needed_ to go on that date with James Ackers to make sure I still loved Ram.” Heather throws up her free arm to emphasize her point.

“Did you really have to have sex with him though?”

“It was _just_ third base, Veronica.” Heather smacks her lips in protest.

“Silly me.” Veronica digs. McNamara was Veronica’s favorite out of all the Heathers, but she was still a Heather.

“Speaking of third base, I saw the way you were looking at the new kid today.” Heather teases, gently tapping the tip of Veronica’s nose. She’s simultaneously unsure of how Heather’s train of thought made that connection while also shocked at how accurate it is.

Veronica laughs nervously. “The new kid? Oh, that’s nothing. I just wanted to say hello. Be friendly and all. Since he’s new.” She says in a desperate attempt to keep the plan on track.

“Come on Ronnieee…” Heather whines. “Before you got here it was all Heather and Heather could talk about. You were drooling the rest of the day. You think you’re gonna go for it?” Veronica knew deep down that Chandler and Duke talk shit about her, but getting confirmation that it actually happens still stings.

“I mean, I don’t know. He’s jus-” Veronica’s words end abruptly when Heather pulls her into a darkened hallway near the stairs. She swears she sees something move out of the corner of her eye; Heather hardly seems to notice but it has nothing to do with her drunkenness.

“Heather and Heather think he’s freaky but I think he’s perfect for you.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“He was talking in American History today about all this stuff. He knew every answer to whatever Mr. Corneille asked-just like you. And he carries all these books around. But, like, books that we don’t even get assigned. _Like you_.” Heather emphasizes with a quick twitch of her hand. 

Her words are the closest any of the Heathers’ had gotten to anything resembling a compliment towards Veronica and it makes her heart a bit heavy. 

“Aren’t you mad about what he did to Ram in the cafe today?” Veronica asks. She’s not exactly sure why she’s dismissing the compliment. 

Heather shrugs her shoulders. “Sometimes Ram needs to be put in his place. They were just blanks.”

“I really wish you spoke your mind more, Heather.”


	5. Onion Rings and Mozzarella Sticks

Heather blinks a few times. “Why?” 

_Jesus Christ._

“Nevermind.” Veronica sighs, giving McNamara’s arm a light squeeze. “You wanna head back to the party?” Heather’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile.

“Only if you promise me you’ll ask the new kid out.” She giggles, sticking out her pinky. Heather’s eyes are beaming and even in the low light Veronica can feel their warmth.

“I know you’re going to go back at some point. You can’t resist a party, but I can.” Veronica knowingly raises her brows. 

“Oh. I guess you’re right.” Heather grasps. “But!” Veronica’s brows knit together. “I’ll only help you with your chant thing if you do it!” Veronica can see the back of her skull her eyes are rolled so far back into her head.

“Are you really going to make me do this?” Heather bounces her head up and down a few times. 

“Veronicaaa, you only go on like two dates a month _max_ and then you come to school the next day complaining about how they tried to kiss you after eating onion rings. You’re already totally in love with him- _just accept fate_.”

“I dunno Heather, he looks like he eats onion rings _and_ mozzarella sticks.”

It’s Heather’s turn to roll her eyes. “Ronnieeeeee…” Heather’s bastardization of her name is really starting to get on her nerves. “You weren’t the only one drooling.”

“Was he now?” Veronica tries to be sarcastic but her words have a tinge of excitement.

“Totally. His eyes were popping out of his head.” Heather teases, a click of her tongue capping off her words. 

Of Heather’s few talents, picking up on the subtle art of who wants to bang who was the strongest; right behind teasing her hair. When Heather Chandler and Peter Dawson hooked up, McNamara was the only one in the Mascara Mob not completely shell shocked. Veronica swears she saw Duke slip McNamara a ten dollar bill when Chandler got up to powder her nose the day she told all of them. 

Normally she’d push for more information but J.D. is probably wondering what the hell is taking so long. Veronica crashes her pinky with Heather’s; eyes floating up to the ceiling. It’s grating but she knows it comes from a genuine place. Heather returns her annoyance with a squeal then hurriedly pulls Veronica back into the hell pit.

Someone else’s smoke fills Veronica’s lungs and it sends her into her second coughing fit on the night. The scent is much more herbal than the cigarette she was sipping on earlier. Her eyes are watering and she can barely make out where Heather is leading her. Heather stops for a moment when one of her squad associates squawks out her name and dribbles off a lengthy compliment about her top. Other kids in the hoard try and talk to Veronica, but she just nods her head and spits out a few pleasantries before giving Heather her own gentle push further towards their target.

Kids crowd the small area around the TV, blocking Heather and Veronica’s path. Arms still linked, they shimmy their way through a clot of junior varsity baseball players. Veronica can feel a multitude of eyes on her when she grazes past a particularly large shortstop; one guy is chewing on his tongue and an infamously skeezy blond sophomore shoots her a wink. Veronica sneers back at him.

“Oh, don’t be like that ‘Nica.” He says.

“Veronica.”

“God, Eric, first you don’t call Heather back and now you’re trying to hump and dump Veronica? Grow up.” McNamara snarls.

“Hey, green just isn’t my color. I look better _on_ blue.” He says, taking a sip of his beer.

Heather and Veronica scoff at the same time and she wonders who exactly picked that up from whom. Heather turns to face him; big ochre statement earrings jangling behind.

“For your information, Veronica has a boyfriend.”

_Wait what._

A chorus of ‘oos’ and ‘awws’ erupt from the players; pounding each other’s backs and grappling their fists together. Eric leans his head back, a condescending chuckle escaping his worm lips.

“Must be a lucky dude. I’d love to give Veronica Sawyer a piggyback ride.” He laughs, rolling his hips in tandem with the shitty house music. His gang cheers even louder.

“First off, that makes no fucking sense. Secondly I don’t-” Veronica’s words are cut off once again, this time by the scent of roses and crinkling of ornamental taffeta.

“What makes you benchwarmers think you can talk to them like that?” Veronica is both dismayed and grateful to see Heather Chandler strutting towards the hoard. She’s wedged herself between Veronica and the C-Team, one hand on her hip and the other pinching the air.

“Oh come on, I didn’t mean it li-”

“First you don’t call Heather back and now you’re trying to hump and dump Veronica?” Chandler echos. The same words are so much more dominating coming from this Heather’s mouth. The smugness on Eric’s face melts away, leaving only panic.

He’s searching for the right words but none come. “Look it’s no-”

“Look, you really think I _need_ any of you fucks here? Everybody who’s anybody at Westerberg showed up half an hour _after_ you. You only got invited because Kurt can’t control how loud he talks on the locker room toilet. All of you are just filler; kids who stay in the background and bring five room-temp cans from whatever six-pack they got a homeless man to buy for them.” The shockwaves from the bomb Heather Chandler just dropped make even Veronica cower. The boys are just staring at the three of them, slack jawed. “I think you owe them an apology.”

“S-Sorry Veronica.” Eric shrinks.

Heather Chandler raises an eyebrow.

“And Heather. McNamara.”

The group turns back into itself, the tension in the air thick. Chandler twists herself back towards Veronica and Heather, her blood red statement earrings mimicking McNamara’s. She says nothing; her face patronizing two bunny rabbits. Veronica knows she should probably produce a ‘thank you’, but something holds her back.

“Why is it okay for you to talk to creeps like that but not me?” Veronica cuts. 

“Tch. You’re welcome.” Chandler cuts back. “They’re underclassmen, Veronica. Who gives a shit? Kurt is a football _star_.” The words drip out of her mouth slowly, just to make sure Veronica understands. 

Veronica can feel just how tense McNamara has grown. While objectively what Chandler did was the right thing, both of them know the real reason behind her actions. Altruism is not a word in Heather’s vocabulary. The only person allowed to bully Heather Chandler’s friends is Heather Chandler.

“Veronica Sawyer has a boyfriend?” Chandler’s smile pierces through Veronica’s chest; ice growing in her veins. “And she wasn’t even going to tell her best friend?”

Veronica looks back at McNamara, but her eyes are plastered to the carpet. She remembers their arms are still linked when Heather’s grip tightens on her bicep. 

“Every other Friday you come to us and complain about your biweekly date’s onion breath but as soon as some guy with a library card shows up you immediately hop his dick?” Chandler’s tone is so condescending it makes Veronica’s teeth grit.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Well then, maybe Eric Limp-Cox has a chance after all.”

"Hey! It’s _Wil_ cox.” A skittish voice pops up from the pack of boys.

“That’s not what Jenny Andrews said-and after you made her pay for both of your guys’ value meals.” Heather lashes back. Veronica sees a tuft of blonde hair fall back into its refuge.

“Of course, if I did, you’d be the first to know Heather.” Veronica continues. “Your blessing means so much to me.”

Chandler returns Veronica’s contention with a scorning amusement in her eyes. They both know this is all just a game; a way to ‘work out’ their differences while still retaining the fringe benefits of whatever their relationship is. Definitely not friendship, that implies that they actually like each other. Too close to be acquaintances-much to Veronica’s chagrin. _Business partners?_ Veronica thinks. _Yeah, close enough._

Heather looks like she’s about to utter something cruel but stops when a Tackle whose name Veronica can’t remember snakes an arm around her waist. She returns the gesture though her hands creeps a bit lower. Chandler gives Veronica one last glance, dimpled chin held high.

“Don’t date down.” Is all she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit on the short side, but I feel like it ended best where it did. ALSO I've been super sick and ALSO busy with work and ALSO going out of town next week so here's a lil' somethin' for you guys a bit early.


	6. The Rosary For Kids Who Only Eat Processed Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: emetophobia

“Heather sure likes talking to all those football players, huh?” McNamara says absentmindedly. Veronica wants to remind her of the last party they all had, the one in June with the rugby team, but decides it’s not worth it.

“He’s, what, the third one tonight?”

“Oh man, Petey must be steamed.” McNamara says as she not-so-subtly points to the northwest corner of the room. Veronica sees Peter Dawson all alone in a nook, savoring a flat beer. 

“If she doesn’t want people to find out about it then why does she keep inviting him?” Veronica says.

“Maybe she feels bad?” Heather asks. The pair look at each other for a moment before erupting into a fit of laughter. Veronica laughs so hard her stomach hurts a bit.

“Okay, are we gonna do this or what?” Veronica coughs out. 

“Or what?” Heather asks. Veronica purses her lips together. “Oh! Oh, yeah!” Heather pulls Veronica closer into the room, inching their way towards the coffee table placed in front of the TV. It’s a gaudy glass-and-gold-pipe piece that Mrs. Chandler uses to store copies of  _ The New Yorker _ -spines intact.

“Attention! Can I have everyone’s attention pleeeease?” Heather tweets. Her cheerleading voice rings out but is lost to the void. She crosses her arms and knits her brows; Heather’s not used to being ignored. Her drunkenness only heightens her confusion and frustration. “Um, hello? Excuse me?” There’s a slight edge to her voice and while a few partygoers throw her a glance nothing sticks. Heather stomps her foot a few times trying to work through her faded thoughts.

Veronica notices a smattering of empty beer bottles abandoned on the coffee table. Miller and Bud Lites with a few wine coolers thrown in for good measure. Different shades of red lipstick stain the mouths of the bottles; labels picked off due to nerves or just boredom. An impulse completely takes over Veronica; her hand is suddenly gripped around the neck of a Sun Country bottle and without hesitation she smashes it into the glass, a loud burst crackling throughout the room. The coffee table now has a noticeable webbing effect; something Heather will have to explain to her parents next week. A thousand eyes are now on the two of them, and the weight of what Veronica just did fully hits her. McNamara’s big blue eyes say  _ What the fuck is wrong with you? _ and Veronica thinks the same thing.

She wonders if J.D. is thinking that too. She’s also pretty sure the embarrassment is what makes her stomach churn.

“Sorry. Hand slipped.” Veronica cracks. A few brows raise her way . Limpcox is smirking, whispering something she probably doesn’t want to know to his future Sigma Alpha Epsilon brothers. Heather chuckles nervously, a blonde ringlet worried around her finger.

“Well, now that we have your guys’ attention-” McNamara’s voice is surprisingly composed. “-Are you guys ready for the big game tomorrow?” A wave of excited cheers erupt and Veronica wonders what malignant spirit McNamara made a deal with to be able to turn a room like that. Her stance has morphed into a confident, perky cheerleader pose; a stark contrast from Veronica’s rigidness. Everyone’s energy has done a complete one-eighty and it makes Veronica’s skin crawl. McNamara’s ruffle skirt gently tousles as she waves to the group. 

“Heather, Heather, Veronica and I want to thank you all for coming tonight. It’s, like, super great that we can all come together as a school and hardcore pregame as a community!” The crowd emits an off-beat roar. “As you all remember, we had a bit of a boo-boo at last year’s Razorback game.” All eyes are instantly on Kurt, his bottle tipped at an acute angle.

“What? I already told you guys, it was their  _ mascot  _ who untied my laces! I didn’t forget.” He says as he takes another sip.

Heather’s grin seems to be holding back laughter. “Well now that we have our new velcro cleats, nothing like that will ever happen again!” More cheers erupt from the crowd and Kurt’s lips purse. 

Heather’s hand finds the small of Veronica’s back as she pulls her forward. Veronica’s eyes match her peers. There’s a variety of shades; blue, brown, hazel,  _ red _ . Her eyes drift towards a barely visible pair under the archway. It’s hard to tell with the shadow but she thinks he gives her a look; a mix of amusement and restlessness. She sees J.D.'s silhouette fold his arms, flashing the cassette. Veronica glowers back.  _ Be patient, I know what I’m doing. _

“Now, I think Ronnie wants to say a few words!” Heather takes a slight step back, leaving Veronica painfully aware of her newfound spotlight. Her chest tightens and she can feel a tickle creep up the back of her throat. 

“Thanks, Heather.” Veronica’s tone is pointed but Heather just does a little clap. “I’m so grateful that the Westerberg spirit is so unwavering that even three straight losses can’t keep us down!” The crowd rouses in harmony and Veronica wonders what  _ they’re _ hearing. “I’m also so thankful all of those doping indictments were thrown out in court!” Ram and Kurt enthusiastically applaud at her words, throwing in a few ‘whoops’ for good measure. Out of the corner of her eye Veronica sees a dark figure moving towards the stereo. Her stomach ties in knots at the sight; excitement building because it’s actually happening. Veronica fixes her gaze back on the masses.

“Now more than ever we need every Rottweiler to come together and show support for the foundation upon which Westerberg’s echelons are built-the football team.” The vocal fry at the end really drives the point home. The crowd cheers in agreement again and Veronica fights the urge to recite something from  _ Triumph of the Will _ ; just to see if it lands.

“Heather?” She whispers to McNamara. “What’s that one cheer we always do when we’re winning?” She says with her best customer service voice.

“Heh, uhh. I don’t remember too many of those, Veronica.” Heather says as she goes through a mental catalogue. “Defense… offense…” Veronica looks past the crowd to see Chandler standing in the back; arms crossed and lips scowling.

A sharp turn of her stomach hits Veronica, and she places her hand on her midsection. The wave of nausea makes her take a few deep breaths.  _ Don’t let her get to you _ . She thinks. 

“Oh!” McNamara squeaks. She bounces back towards the crowd, a perfectly aligned grin blossomed across her face. “Heeeeey-O!” She pumps out.

“Heeeeey-O!” The bodies echo back.

_ Fuck it’s this one _ . Veronica bites her tongue. This cheer is the bane of her existence at pep rallies; five minutes of spelling the word ‘Westerberg’ over and over again. This chant has the magical properties of slowing down time to an absolute crawl; Veronica swears she ages 3 years every time she hears it. It’s like praying The Rosary for kids who only eat processed cheese. The fact that she’s in character keeps her from plugging her ears.

“W-Eeee...?” Heather drags, a coy hand resting on her hip.

“W-E-S-T-E-Rrrr…?” The crowd responds.

“W-E-S-T-E-R-B-E-R-G-W-E-S-” The string of letters fill the room at breakneck speeds. The purpose of the cheer is to link arms to the shoulders of your peers and jump on the beat of the individual letter, but everyone’s so drunk it’s just a comically incoherent round of cardio. Heather’s arm is wrapped tightly around Veronica’s waist, her own hand awkwardly clutching onto McNamara’s shoulder. Heather jumps to her own tempo and while she’s getting good air Veronica can only half heartedly bounce on the balls of her feet. She doesn’t even bother trying to keep up with the cheer because her forehead is now scorching hot and her throat is tight. Each jump causes a violent flip in the pit of Veronica’s stomach, her nausea growing exponentially. The verbal alphabet soup only adds to her confusion and it takes every ounce of strength to not keel over. This chant feels like it’s been going on for two centuries which means it’s only halfway over.

“Veronica? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Heather is standing still now, supporting the majority of Veronica’s weight. The crowd has taken on a life of its own and continues its chorale without McNamara. The sea of bodies writhing against each other gives Veronica motion sickness. She gets a whiff of vodka from whoever spilled their drink and she gags.

“I just ne-” is all she gets out before she’s bent over, face-to-face with a puddle of puke. There’s no recollection of the act; just shifting from one state of being to the next. The physical relief is immediate and while she’s a little thirsty Veronica feels coherent again. She takes a few small breaths, indulging in how much lighter she feels. Coherency brings revelation, however, and a whole other type of dread twists her stomach.

Veronica sets herself right up; eyes wide. The kids in her immediate vicinity have already stepped back in disgust and she can physically see the realization spread from where she is to the back of the room. The jumble of ‘W’s’ and ‘E’s’ is replaced by declarations of being really grossed out. Veronica instinctively pulls her cardigan closer to her and cringes when she realizes it’s wet. Heather McNamara is looking down in horror at her now-dirty pumps. Veronica’s gaze once again meets Chandler’s and the look in her eyes is terrifying; pure rage mixed with euphoria of witnessing a live social suicide. The crowd has begun to react loudly and there’s a clash of laughter and gags. 

Veronica does the only thing she can and runs out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the leave of absence everyone! i got super sick in february (hmm...) and then had to do some stuff for work, and then the world imploded and i spent two months in an existential dread spiral. i promise i haven't forgotten about this, just had to work through grieving my future and also writer's block!! i have a few chapters waiting too, just didn't really know how to push through this one for awhile. also hope you liked that awful cheer as i took it from my real life alma mater. cheers!!


	7. What Do I Look Like, A Harbinger Of Death?

Veronica sprints herself to the entryway of the house, for the first time ever grateful for the mazes of hallways connecting each room. She’s able to shake off all of the other partygoers who are no doubt coming up with a nickname that will stick until graduation. This time she doesn’t even notice all the Chandler family photos judging her. She doesn’t notice the clicks of a pair of shoes that cost more than her car either. Right as she’s about to escape Heather Chandler snatches Veronica’s shoulder and violently spins her around.

“You stupid fuck.” Chandler cuts. Her voice is tense and controlled, save for a crack right at the end.

“You goddamned bitch.” Veronica fires back. Heather’s eye twitches at her words and Veronica knows she’s right on the edge.

“You were nothing before you met me. You were playing Barbies with Martha Dumptruck! You were a Brownie, you were a Bluebird, you were a Girl Scout Cookie! I brought you up as one of my own and what's my thanks? It's on the living room carpet. I get paid in puke!”

“Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.”

“You’re finished, Sawyer. Not even dollar store Jesse James is gonna want to fuck you now. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerberg's going to let you play their reindeer games.” Heather says with a terrifyingly composed cadance. 

The thought of J.D. right now is too much to process and Veronica’s brain switches to autopilot.

Veronica almost batters the door down she's so aggressive with her exit. There’s no theatrics, no crying, just a trying to get away from her shame as quickly as possible. She’s in shock; face numb, fingers numb, no thoughts. Her feet lead her across pavement and lawns watered on timers. The rhythmic crunch of fresh grass underneath her gait is the only thing that fully processes in her head. Porch lights blink on as she passes different houses, signaling her arrival then dimming when she exits. She walks for what feels like miles before finally collapsing onto a particularly grassy median. She crumples into a very unladylike position, legs wide open and welcoming for any passing cars to come and end her.

Veronica rests her head between cupped hands and fixates on the texture of the road. The white lines have faded from use and oil stains patch the ground. Part of the road is wet from overzealous sprinklers and a few Snappy Snack Shack cups litter the curbs. Her eyes shift over a bit and she notices there’s now a huge run in her stocking, probably from her inept attempt at fence-hopping and aggravated by her disappearing act. The puke on her shirt has hardened and she scratches the big chunks off, sloppily chipping off some nail polish in the process. _Not like it matters anymore._ She uses her palms to rub down the corners of her mouth, foundation be damned. There’s bile spackled to the kitten heels and she rolls her feet in the wet grass to clean them off. She probably still reeks but at least most of the physical evidence is gone.

“Nice escape, Houdini.” J.D.’s voice only fills Veronica with dread.

“At least Houdini had the decency to die immediately after he humiliated himself.”

“Actually he died of appendicitis. Sick and alone like everyone else.”

Veronica turns around to face him. He’s as tall and confident as ever, seemingly unaware of everything that has just happened. There’s a lit cigarette between his lips and he gives her a cheshire cat grin when their eyes meet. She appreciates how cute he is for a second until her shame deepens.

“Have you come to give me the execution I deserve?” Her voice is gravelly and sad.

“What do I look like, a harbinger of death?” He says as he kicks a small rock before taking a seat of his own on the curb.

“The trenchcoat certainly doesn’t help.”

“It’s a _duster_ , mind you.” J.D. takes a long drag of his cigarette before tossing it into a puddle. “So, how you holdin’ up kiddo?” His acknowledgement is so lighthearted it makes Veronica want to crawl even deeper into her humiliation pit. She looks back up at him through glazed eyes and a defeated frown.

“Not good. I mean it’s to be expected.” He says with a shrug.

“I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“Ah come on, don’t be like that Veronica. The only one rubbing it in is Duke scrubbing the carpet.” J.D. gives her a ‘ _ehh…?_ ’ smile but her face remains miserable. “Look, I’ve been to a lot of parties and that was nowhere near the top five for blowing chunks.”

“How about top ten?” She mumbles into her sleeve.

“There was this one time, in Boston, this kid from my chem class drank _seven_ beers before his buddies gave him a handle to chug. He was the skinniest thing too-probably weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet. He had been eating candy all night, he was like a hummingbird and lived off sugar, and when he finally burst it was this technicolor vomit all over his crush’s new dress. Smelt like strawberries and pain.”

“That is pretty bad.”

“Hey, you didn’t throw up on what could’ve been your future spouse. That’s a win in my book.” He says. She decides not to make a joke about still throwing up _in front_ of him.

_Future spouse? Geez, calm down Veronica._

“How’d you find me?” She asks, words still muffled by her sleeve.

“Wasn’t too hard. Just followed the breadcrumbs you dropped along the way.” She quirks an eyebrow up and he continues. “You’re only about a block down from the ugliest house in America, sweetheart.” The nickname makes her ears burn.

“It is really ugly, isn’t it?” She says, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Wright is spinning in his grave.” J.D. reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the flask once more. “Thirsty?”

“Oh fuck off.” Veronica laughs, rubbing her temples.

J.D. looks taken aback for a second until the realization hits him. “I dumped out the rest of that shitty Bourbon and filled it up with water. I figured you might need something to cleanse the palate.”

Veronica feels her heart flutter at the gesture. “Who says chivalry is dead?” She says, taking the flask. The first sip is one of the most amazing things she’s ever had, and after a few big gulps she feels almost human again. She pours a little water into her hand and fully rinses the stains off her clothes. 

“Ah, you uh…” J.D. says as he twirls an imaginary lock of hair. Veronica mimics the motion and winces when she feels a crunchy strand, quickly making work of it with some more water. She takes one last drink, polishing off the flask.

“Thank you.” She says. It’s genuine and warm and she knows J.D. feels it too when he grins from ear-to-ear.

“You’re welcome. I do accept tips.” J.D. holds out his hand expectantly but Veronica just slaps it with her own. He captures her wrist as they make contact, his thumb migrating up into her palm.

“Buy low, sell high.” Veronica says. J.D. just makes a face at her awful joke. “Is Heather really cleaning up my mess right now?”

“Chandler snapped her fingers and Duke was immediately on her knees with a scrub brush and club soda. I made a pretty quick exit myself after that but some say she’s still scouring to this day.” He says. She imagines just exactly how Duke looks on the floor making work of her spit up and feels slightly better about herself.

A swift realization hits Veronica. “Shit!”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad for her, Ronnie.” The way he bastardizes her name makes her feel giddy.

“Not that, _Jason_.” She says. J.D. sneers at his full name. “Did you get to the stereo?” He sharply inhales through his teeth and looks off to the side.

“One minute you’re the next Tammy Faye Bakker and the next you’re hunched over ruining McNamara’s pumps.” He says. Veronica suddenly feels pretty bad again, and it must show on her face. “When you ran out I felt like there were more pressing matters to be taken care of.” He says with a squeeze of her hand.

Veronica looks back up at him and they share a tender gaze. J.D. takes her in for a moment before looking away again, somewhat flustered. He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain some composure. A nervous cough precedes him standing up. He pulls Veronica’s arm up with him, almost forgetting they’re still linked. He gives her wrist a little shake and she raises herself up using him as leverage. When she’s upright he lets go of her and she feels slightly disappointed.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk.” He says as he moves himself right beside her. They start in the opposite direction of Chandler’s house, much to Veronica’s relief. The stomp of his boots is in stark contrast with the tick of her heels.

“Is it too soon to ask why you think you just tossed your cookies like that?” He asks awkwardly.

Veronica sighs, trying to process her thoughts. “That jungle juice was pretty nasty.”

“Yeah, Wild Turkey and Moscato should never go together.” He responds. “Also I spiked the punch with Ipecac.” It’s somewhat at her expense but the joke still makes her laugh.

“Well then it wasn’t even my fault.” Veronica plays with the cuffs of her sleeves.

“My bad. Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.” He says to the ground.

“It’s alright, I guess. My reputation is just tarnished forever.”

“I wouldn’t say forever; just until you graduate from Dartmouth.”

“Dartmouth? Eugh.”

“Okay, how about Arizona State?” He asks.

“I’ll take Dartmouth.” She says and he laughs in response.

“Does it feel good to be back?” He asks.

Veronica pulls into herself, her voice tense. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Maybe?” There’s a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

“Who will I eat lunch with on Monday? God, I sound like an Afterschool Special.”

“Who did you eat lunch with B.C.?” He asks. Veronica looks at him, confusion twisting her face. “Before Chandler.”

Veronica thinks about Martha, and about their Sacramental lunch rituals from Freshman to part of Junior year. They would commune in the northwest corner of the lunchroom, a table slightly obscured by a support beam. Veronica would bring a lunch painstakingly made the night before by her mom and Martha would always be stuck with whatever slop the cafeteria had reheated that day. They’d split Veronica’s food on particularly nasty days and for dessert Martha would bring homemade brownies or cookies. Martha tended to bake under stress and her treats would go from weekly to everyday during finals. They’d vent about whatever happened in English or Chemistry that morning and Veronica would recite all the stupid questions Kurt had asked. Martha would usually try and give him the benefit of the doubt, but even she spit out her soda when Veronica told her about how he had asked if Switzerland was real.

Veronica relives that moment today, in the cafeteria, when McNamara slipped the note _she_ had written onto Martha’s lunchtray. She remembers the way her face looked after Ram shot her down; the way the unicorn earrings Veronica had gotten her for her birthday two years ago jangled when she ran out of the lunchroom. A new breed of shame surges in the pit of her stomach.

“I don’t think they’d have me.” Is all she says. 

“You got fired from a job that you hate, happens to everyone. Now you can go on to even better opportunities.”

“You sound just like my mom. When one door closes, another opens to a lifetime of ridicule.”

“Not if you burn this place to the ground.” He says, and something shifts in his eyes.

“Yeah and then I could live in Cleveland.” She mutters.

“I can’t believe people voluntarily live in Ohio.” He says, somewhat back on earth.

“I know, right? We moved here when I was five and my dad had to choose between Sherwood and Chicago. I’ll never forgive him.”

“Chicago was one of the few places I could tolerate. Detroit was rough but at least it was interesting. I think there’s only one place that’s blander than Sherwood.”

“Is that even possible?” She says, genuinely surprised.

“Little town on the New Mexico-Texas border called Clovis. Nothing but a military base and chain restaurants but still smells like cow shit twenty-four-seven. We only lasted two months.” The prospect of J.D. leaving by October makes Veronica’s heart sink.

“Where’s the longest you’ve stayed?” She asks, hoping to quell her nerves.

“A year. Dallas.” His tone is curt.

“Did you like it?”

“It was okay, for awhile. But things went up in flames in November and we were gone before Thanksgiving.” He has the same look as before, the one in the alley. Veronica swallows hard.

J.D. wordlessly pulls his pack of Marlboros from his coat pocket and robotically places one between his lips. He gracefully lights it, and Veronica can physically see the tension leave his shoulders as he takes an enormously long drag. He exhale is deep and two streams of smoke pour from his nostrils.

Veronica opens her mouth to say something, anything, but he stops her before the words form. “But enough about me.” He says, cigarette dangling from his lips. “You think McNamara is still gonna make you ask that new kid out?”

The whiplash from the extreme shift in tone makes Veronica’s brain short circuit for a second. She stumbles over her words, stuttering an ‘ah’ before she regains composure.

“You heard that?” She finally spits out.

“Part of it. That Heather almost compromised my hiding spot when she pulled you aside. Color me impressed.” He says. The look on his face is almost mockingly aware of what they had discussed.

“I don’t think she has to make me.” Veronica says, gaining some control. She calms herself down enough to give a knowing look back.

They’ve stopped moving now, right in front of some one story ranch-style home. J.D. chews his tongue, and she can tell he’s waiting for her to crack and admit something. This isn’t her first rodeo; she’s played this game with Chandler a million times before. Part of her wants to tell him and see how he reacts, and if it’s good, but the other wants to see just how far this tug-of-war can go.

She decides on the latter.

“Of course that German exchange student is in pretty high demand. I might have to mud wrestle twelve other girls just to get a chance to talk to him.” She says with a facetious sigh.

J.D. narrows his eyes, a quick scoff bobbing his cigarette. “What’s his name again? Jürgen?”

“Tom.” She clarifies.

“Ah, silly me.” He says, accepting his defeat. “Shall we head back?”

“Ugh, why would I ever go back there?”

“Well, my bike is still in that alleyway and I think you need to slip into something more comfortable.” He says, pointing to her shoes.

_Shit._

“I guess we have no choice.”


End file.
